


What's in a Name

by Tallulah_Rasa



Category: Stargate SG-1, White Collar
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1879266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tallulah_Rasa/pseuds/Tallulah_Rasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hardly anyone knows where Mozzie’s from, or what his real name is, or that he once developed a show for cable TV.  A few people do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's in a Name

**Author's Note:**

> SG-1/White Collar, because Mozzie bears an uncanny resemblance to a guy from the SG-1 universe. Written during the first season of White Collar, which was post-series for SG-1. Thanks (and/or blame) go to Vickita and E.
> 
> If you're only familiar with one of these fandoms: White Collar's Neal Caffrey is a con artist and thief, and Mozzie (Willie Garson) is his conspiracy-theorist friend and partner in crime. On Stargate SG-1, a team headed by Jack O'Neill (and including Teal'c, who's from another planet) travels the galaxy as part of a top-secret government program. The team has had run-ins with Martin Lloyd (Willie Garson), a sometimes-amnesiac alien living on Earth. Marty once created a sci-fi TV show based on Jack's team.

"Mozz…" Neal began.  His voice held not even a trace of exasperation, but then, as a great many officers of the law, art thieves, gallery owners, museum curators, bounty hunters, and con men – not to mention one sort-of-ex-girlfriend – could attest, Neal hid things very, very well. 

"Scoff all you like, my friend," Mozzie said loudly, partly because he was facing the wind, and partly because Neal wasn't all that great at listening.  Not when a con wasn't involved, anyway.  "I'm telling you, I can feel it.  I'm being watched." 

"I'm hardly going to argue against the possibility of government surveillance," Neal said, his eyes drifting to a pretty girl with an even prettier diamond necklace hurrying toward the Vanderbilt Avenue side of Grand Central.  He didn't even glance down at the monitor all-too-firmly locked around his ankle.  "But Mozz, you make it sound like…like…like extra-terrestrials are going to beam  down and—" 

" _Ring_ down," Mozzie said.  "Don't make it out like I watched too many _Star Trek_ movies, okay?  I'm not crazy.  You of all people should respect the validity of gut feelings.  You remember that time in…?" 

He had Neal's attention then, and Neal's eyes were so serious they could have been talking about Kate.  "Yeah, I do, Mozz," he said.  "You're right.  It's just…"  He sighed.  "Look, can we talk about this later?  I have to go see a man about a horse." 

" _Horse at Trough?"_ Mozzie asked, squinting. "The Degas statuette the Met finallygot the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts to loan out?" 

Neal nodded.  "It was stolen last night." 

"I wondered what all the police cars were doing at the museum."  Mozzie fixed his scarf, and looked up at Neal.  "Do they know the original was actually stolen eight years ago?" 

"Eight and a half," Neal said.  "And no." 

"Hell of a good fake," Mozzie observed casually. 

" _Great_ fake," Neal agreed. 

"I forget.  How long did it take you?" 

Neal just smiled.  "Gotta go," he said.  He looked over his shoulder just before he melted into the crowd of people scurrying outside Grand Central Station.  "Let me know if anything…materializes." 

Mozzie rolled his eyes, turned around, and almost smacked into Teal'c. 

"Murray," Mozzie said, from force of habit. 

"Marty," Teal'c replied.  Though he was in jeans and a pea coat, with a black knit cap pulled low over his forehead, and without a staff weapon or even a zat, he looked entirely and completely like an alien being from another planet.  

The crowd rushing down 42nd Street didn't give him a second glance. 

"H..how did you get here?" Mozzie stuttered.

"Due to budgetary cutbacks, I was forced to take a commercial flight from Colorado Springs to New York," Teal'c said.  "It stopped in Atlanta and Indianapolis."  He narrowed his eyes, staring intently at Mozzie.  "I was required to fly coach.  It was most…unpleasant."  He shuddered slightly, took a breath, and replanted himself on the sidewalk.  "Marty, I regret to tell you that—" 

Mozzie didn't wait to hear what Teal'c – who had served the Goa'uld, and who had none-the-less just described his day as "unpleasant" – had to say.  He bolted into Grand Central Station, darting from group to group of would-be travelers – tall people made for _such_ good cover – and didn't stop running until he was safely on a departing train.  Only then did he bother to look around and see where he was heading.  The Harlem line, that was good.  He could get off at Tuckahoe, grab something to eat at that little Chinese restaurant across from the train station, and decide what to do from there.   He settled himself into a seat and allowed himself to relax fractionally.  He had plenty of time, after all.  It was almost rush hour, and given the SGC’s apparent budget woes, they weren’t going to send anyone after him if they had to pay peak fare. 

***

Several hours and a platter of very good _Wor Shu Op_ later, Mozzie swung by Neal's place with a bag of eggrolls and a fair sense of security.  After all, Neal had texted him with their standard code for "I need to talk, but don't worry, everything's cool," and he'd seen – and felt – nothing that set off any of his hair-trigger internal alarms.  He still kept a cautious eye out as he made his way to June's elegant townhouse, but he couldn't help being buoyed by his memory of his escape from Teal'c, the SGC's budgetary problems, and that really excellent duck dish. 

He was, therefore, taken aback when he slipped into Neal's apartment and saw that Neal was not alone. 

"Marty, Marty, Marty," Neal's guest said from his seat at the kitchen table. 

"O'Neill?" Mozzie said, and the bag dropped out of his hands, to be neatly retrieved by Neal. 

"Eggrolls," Jack said approvingly. 

" _Marty_ ," Neal said over him.  "Mozz, you've been holding out on me." 

"I have to say, this is a step up from writing a TV show," Jack said, helping himself to an eggroll.  "But still…hanging out with an art thief?" 

"Not _just_ an art thief," Neal said. 

The sheer unfairness of it all was what got Mozzie.  "I hear Dr. Jackson has been working with Vala Mal Doran," he said. 

"Point taken," Jack conceded around a mouthful of eggroll. 

"Who's Vala Mal Doran?" Neal stage whispered. 

"She did the job at the Fine Arts Center at Colorado Springs," Mozzie said. 

"Oh," Neal said.  "Nice.  Though I wouldn't have thought there was much of a market for—" 

"There wasn't," Mozzie said. 

"That wasn't the point," Jack added, as though repeating something he'd been told, but didn't really understand. 

"Speaking of which, Mozz, the point here is—" 

"Mozzie," Jack said.  "I like it, Marty." 

"You've been holding out on me," Neal finished. 

"You would have believed him if he'd told you he was from another planet?" Jack asked. 

Neal thought about it, shrugged, and made a face. 

"Seriously?" Mozzie asked, a split second before Jack did. 

"It would have explained a lot," Neal said. 

"You're not going to tell anyone, are you?" Mozzie asked. 

"He's a con man," Jack said.  "He can't tell people something like that.  They'll stop believing him." 

"Good point," Mozzie said, and then he turned to Jack.  "I'm not going back with you." 

"Hell, no,"  Jack said.  "I have enough problems with the Joint Chiefs.  Not to mention Vala.  And Daniel keeps – well, that's not important.  Look, Marty, the  thing is – the FBI's trying to dig up the dirt on you, thanks to your not-just-an-art-thief pal, here, and…" 

"And…?" Mozzie and Neal said together. 

"And we're having a little trouble keeping ahead of them," Jack admitted with a sigh.  "I mean, it takes time and money to pull together a background that can stand up to FBI scrutiny, and as you may have heard, we're living with budget cuts…" 

"Teal'c mentioned," Mozzie said. 

"Teal'c?" Neal mouthed. 

"Hard to explain," Mozzie said, turning to Neal. 

"Indeed," Jack said, half to himself.  "Anyway," he went on, looking first at Mozzie, and then at Neal, "we were wondering…" 

"Ye-esss?" 

"Could _you_ do it?" 

Neal got it first.  "You want us to build an airtight background for Mozz, so the FBI won't find out he's really an…an illegal alien?"  He was grinning like a fox who'd not only been asked to guard the henhouse, but had also been made beneficiary of the insurance policy should anything happen to the inhabitants.  

Jack leaned back in his chair. "That's about it." 

Neal wandered casually over to the bookshelf.  "Well, I don't know," he said.  "It's kind of a conflict of interest, and I'm pretty busy these days…"  Mozzie could have almost bought it, but he'd seen Neal practice that tone of voice before. 

"And you're wondering what's in it for you?" Jack asked. 

"I'm shocked you would say such a thing," Neal said.  Mozzie had thought he'd go with _You can't put a price on loyalty_ , but Neal was taking a harder tack.  Maybe he thought O'Neill could get him out of the ankle monitor.  Or maybe he was just irritated that O'Neill had eaten the eggrolls. 

"Ah,"  Jack said. "Well, if you _had_ been wondering, I would have told you that we were prepared to…not tell the FBI certain things.  About where the real Degas _Horse at Trough_ is, for instance.  Or about that little warehouse in Boston, or the stash in Charlottesville, or the bank deposit box in—" 

"Okay," Neal said quickly. 

"Charlottesville?"  Mozzie repeated, eyeing first Jack, and then Neal.  "I don't remember hearing about Charlottesville." 

"I don't remember hearing about your spaceship," Neal retorted, and then, more softly, "We should talk." 

"Okay, then," Jack said.  "My work here is done.  Thanks for the eggrolls." 

"You're welcome," Neal said, ever the gentleman. 

"We'll be in touch about the…" 

"Right," Neal said. 

Jack shook Neal's hand, and then turned to Mozz.  "Be good, Marty. Take care of yourself." 

"You too, O'Neill." 

"You're not going to…dematerialize, are you?" Neal broke in. 

"Nah," Jack said.  "I've got a cab waiting." 

"Budget cuts," Mozzie said, and then, "I'm glad _I_ don't work for the government." 

Both Neal and Jack gave him dirty looks, but Mozzie didn't care.  The truth was out there, and it was on his side. 

END


End file.
